


Coins. Ineffable coins.

by madlysanecatlady



Series: The Nice and Accurate Ineffable Husbands Compendium [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlysanecatlady/pseuds/madlysanecatlady
Summary: A coin toss is an illogical, inconsistent way of making decisions that could never lead one to the proper decisions. Obviously a demon would be fond of them. But then why would an angel?





	Coins. Ineffable coins.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first fic based solely on the show. So of course I had to zero in on a small ridiculous detail.

Coin tosses were such an infernally inelegant and illogical thing. One would think, logically, that two sides would lend themselves to a proper 50%-50% chance split. One would, unfortunately, be rather incorrect. Such things as imperfections in the metal, dents or curvatures of the coins, the size of the engravings on each side, all the likely culprits one would expect but of course, not expect when making a wager on the flip of a coin.

Aziraphale always expected such things of course. He was always well aware of standard etchings of the forms of currency in the area he so happened to be inhabiting. He even knew when to account for curvatures and dents. Shillings were a particularly unreliable currency with which to conduct such frivolous games of chance; they always had incredible imperfections that caused them to more flail and flop haphazardly than fly and land gracefully through the air. Horrifically unreliable means of making decisions. He suspected that was why Crowley favoured them so much.

Right now, eyeing the heavily minted and slightly curved piece of silver twirling between Crowley’s fingers, Aziraphale knew his decision was already made for him. The Arrangement would stand. Now he simply needed to know who would have the rather unlucky trip to Edinburgh, the ghastly place. Well, not ghastly, just, well, Aziraphale thought that the food there was decidedly lacking. _Haggis_. What a ghastly assault on the palette. It had absolutely _no_ business being plopped onto a plate and shoved into the general direction of poor, unsuspecting hungry souls.

Aziraphale paused. Well that was such a stupid thing to be hung up on. The important thing was the work that needed doing. He had a fair amount of work to get done there for his side. But Crowley? Crowley had a mere pittance. Barely an afternoon’s effort to do. He was willing to put this up to chance to wind up having to do a ludicrously large amount of work he didn’t even _need_ to do? Aziraphale rather thought not.

He had been suspecting for some time now that Crowley had been _fixing_ the tosses that he proposed. The only reason Aziraphale hadn’t told him off rather sternly yet is that he oddly seemed to be fixing them in the way that Aziraphale had never needed to do anything particularly _evil_ whenever he was filling in for the demon. He hardly wanted to delve into his reasonings at the moment, and was simply wondering if his theory were about to be proven.

‘Heads,’ he decided finally, taking the curvature and weight of this specific shilling into account and realising the odds were not in his favour in this choice. Heads had a rather favourable 54.8% to 57.5% chance to land given the beating this particular coin appeared to have suffered. If he was right in his suspicions, however, tails would triumph in this toss, and Aziraphale would be heading to Scotland upon the end of this rather pathetic showing of Hamlet.

‘Tails,’ Crowley announced, showing him. ‘Looks like you’re going to Scotland.’

Aziraphale was silently celebrating. He had known he was right of course, or well, he had been reasonably sure at least, but now he _knew_. He  _knew_ knew. Crowley was ensuring Aziraphale lost the coin tosses that barely mattered. Now he was simply unsure as to why. Sort of like how he was rather unsure why no one would bother to come and see such a masterpiece of a play. It was a travesty, really. He really wished some sort of miracle would occur, the kind Mister Shakespeare appeared to be praying for. He looked to Crowley, hoping for some inspiration from his rather fantastic imagination.

Crowley rolled his eyes. ‘Fine, this one’s on me.’

Aziraphale could not stop himself from smiling. For some reason, this demon seemed rather content with going along with all the ridiculous and rather more frivolous whims Aziraphale had. He wasn’t about to question it, of course. It wouldn’t do to question something that made him so happy, would it? A happy angel did more good in the long run, didn’t he?

Crowley’s reasonings aside, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. He’d garnered rather a fondness for shiny little coins since then. He always kept one in his pocket, just in case. Well, really, he kept it in case the opportunity ever arose for a spot of sleight of hand magic. What he refused to tell himself, or rather, refused to admit to himself, was that he _really_ kept it because he liked to always have a reminder of Crowley’s kindness on his corporation at all times so that when the demon was being a truly annoying and infuriating piece of damnation, he could simply reach into his pocket, feel the coin, and remember why he was so willing to stay at his side. Or perhaps he simply liked having the reminder of Crowley in general, not that he’d ever admit that of course.

But still, the coin remained there in his pocket, as constant a presence as the stylish tartan Crowley was so fond of laughing at. Innocent at first glance, but near-constantly burning through the fabric, reminding the angel just how comfortable he had allowed himself to become here… and just how comfortable he _wanted_ to be.

He could do away with the coin at any time he pleased, he lied to himself. Yes, of course. It would be silly to be unable to part with such a mere slice of metal over something as silly as sentiment about a _demon_. No matter the time, when he decided he would, he would rid himself of the coin. Yes. Of course. But until then. Well, until then, the coin would remain there in his pocket, acting as just a tiny _little_ reminder.

Ineffably.


End file.
